


A Night to Remember

by pengiesama



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Bottom Sorey, First Time, Lingerie, M/M, Post-Canon, Promiscuity, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-29 16:44:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11444907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pengiesama/pseuds/pengiesama
Summary: While Sorey slept, Mikleo kept loneliness at bay by screwing lots of people. (Like, LOTS of people.) Now that Sorey's awake and back in his arms, Mikleo is dead-set on making sure Sorey's first time is a world-shaking experience -- no matter how much he has to blueball Sorey in the process to prepare for it.





	A Night to Remember

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for an anonymous requester! <3

When Sorey went to sleep, Mikleo believed in his promise that he’d return. He believed in their dream, and worked for it, year in and century out; even when it was hard, even when it broke his heart.

Now that he was back, the course of action should have been clear: 1) hold Sorey close, and never let him go, and 2) screw him so hard his legs fall off, thus also preventing him from leaving again.

But, even with Sorey here, looking at him with all the love in the world in his eyes as they quietly cuddled in bed – nested in a heap of books and journals that Mikleo had collected for him over the years, Sorey looking so perfect in the low lamplight, Sorey humming in wordless content whenever Mikleo couldn’t help himself and had to lean in to kiss his cheeks, his temple…even with the mood so perfect, Mikleo found himself tense.

Sorey idly twirled a curl of Mikleo’s hair around his fingers, and brought it to his lips to kiss. Mikleo’s stomach flipped in excitement and growing panic.

Over all the centuries, he had examined his and Sorey’s fumbling courtship with the clarity of hindsight. His chest warmed and his eyes prickled at the memories of racing through the halls of the Mabionogio Ruins, tumbling into traps and fretting over Sorey’s scrapes even as his magic mended them. His nerves thrilled at the memory of joining for the first time in the armatus, their disagreements forgotten. He smiled at the memory of that shy, awkward, absolutely wonderful and far overdue first kiss overlooking Lastonbell at night. He kicked himself for not being able to spit out his feelings as they overlooked the cliffs of Elysia. There had been so many times – so many times it was obvious that he could have made a move, that he could have been more open to Sorey, and then Sorey would have been able to dream good dreams of their tangled legs in bed instead of having to make due with a fleeting kiss to his cheek as Mikleo floated up, up, and away from him.

The years passed, and Mikleo was so lonely, and soon his own hands and fingers couldn’t measure up to the need for someone’s arms around him—

And—

“Mikleo,” Sorey said gently. His hand brushed thickly through Mikleo’s hair, smoothing it back so he could kiss at his circlet. “Hey. Is something wrong?”

He’d already told Sorey that he’d slept with other people while Sorey dreamed with Maotelus. He would never keep secrets from him. During that night in Lastonbell, Sorey had gripped his hand so tightly, and leaned his forehead against his, and whispered to him that he didn’t need to wait around while he slept, that he needed to live his life. Mikleo had almost been offended at the idea, and had been perfectly convinced he could wait as long as it took. But the stress of rebuilding a world without greater divine support, the emptiness of being without his one and only – it began to take its toll. And, of course, after the confession spilled out of Mikleo’s lips, Sorey had just lifted up his chin with a gentle finger, and told him that it was okay – that he was glad Mikleo had someone to keep him company while Sorey left him all alone.

(“You didn’t, uh, with Zaveid--” Sorey asked, a bit unsure.

“God, no,” Mikleo assured him. He may have been lonely and horny, but he had standards.)

He was ready, more than ready, to finally have the relationship he’d wanted with Sorey for so, so long, but…

Sorey looked at him with those gorgeous, trusting eyes of his, so full of love.

It needed to be _perfect_. He would be Sorey’s first, and he needed to make sure it was incredible, intimate, loving. At the same time, it also needed to be mind-blowingly filthy. He needed to suck Sorey’s lifeforce out through his dick, he needed to make sure he wasn’t walking straight for days, he needed to fuck Sorey so hard he temporarily lost corporeal form and had to be retaught how to communicate verbally. Sweet yet spicy. Gentle yet rough. Silk sheets but also nipple clamps. Mikleo needed to gaze upon the duality of deep dicking, and reconcile it into the singular life-changing experience that Sorey deserved.

He needed more time. More time to prepare.

Mikleo sat up with laser-focused determination.

“Uh,” Sorey said, slowly. He had been rubbing noses with Mikleo, and trying to nuzzle his way into a kiss. He could not be distracted by such enchanting temptations – Mikleo had to train. Mikleo marched over to his dresser and started rooting around. Sorey propped himself up on his elbow, and a hopeful look crossed his face when Mikleo finally found his tools.

“I must go,” Mikleo stated with resolute will, dumping a dildo, lube, and a remote vibrator with a garter anchor into his bag and heading to the guest room.

“Buh?” Sorey asked, confusion plain on his face. Mikleo wanted more than anything to return to his arms, return to the feeling of his lips shyly exploring his skin. But he had trials to face first. Stamina to gain. Things to try to fit down his throat. Lingerie to order online. Interior decorating and cooking and he’d have to brush up on his guitar which he’d tried to pick up a few centuries ago but dropped when his tutor-with-benefits started making things weird between them.

It would not be easy. It would be a trial with stakes higher than Mikleo had ever faced before, except for those couple of times he saved the world, maybe. But it was a challenge that brought him ecstasy to stare in the face. The very confused face. Mikleo smiled at Sorey gently as he stood in the doorway to the guest room.

“Soon, okay?” he said, softly. “I want to make it good for you.”

Sorey’s eyes slowly moved from Mikleo’s face, to his bag o’ stuff, then back.

“…okay,” Sorey finally said. “Whatever makes you comfortable. But could I, um, watch, maybe, or something--”

Having an audience during training was bad luck. Mikleo told him such. Sorey’s lips tugged into a pout, and he dropped a book over his face, mumbling out a “good night”.

 

\--

 

Figuring out where his technique required improvement seemed straightforward on the surface – Mikleo was on good terms with most of his previous partners, and could just ask them for a review. However, he rapidly began to realize on reflection that he had a Type, and that was “bright and talented humans”. Meaning most of them had passed on at this point.

His human partners seemed to enjoy his companionship well enough – sometimes a bit too well. His tendency to become attracted to talented individuals meant that he very often found himself the center of their creative world; which led to awkwardness if they became too attached to their “muse”. He learned his lesson soon enough, and tried to be choosier with his partners, even during those lonely times when he just wanted to jump into bed with any tall, tan, broad-shouldered stranger that could see him.

He’d been with a few fellow seraphim, but seraphic sex tended to get a little…intense, to put it lightly. Mikleo had no intentions on introducing Sorey to some of the shit he’d done with his water artes for at least a few decades – Sorey needed a slow, gentle introduction, and one that didn’t involve tentacles. (What _was_ it with his seraph partners always begging him for the damn tentacles? Was it because he was a water seraph? That seemed stereotypical of them to assume he would be able to sprout tentacles when asked, even though he certainly could. He supposed he should be offended.)

He and Uno had hooked up at a party at Katz Korner a couple hundred years back, and Uno seemed like the best candidate to give him a balanced review on his performance in bed. He was calm, level-headed, and was appreciative of Mikleo’s non-tentacle talents.

“Here you are,” Uno said, giving back the itemized review Mikleo had created and printed out for him. Mikleo flipped through the sheets to make sure he’d filled them all out. “I…answered all that I could to the best of my ability.”

“Thank you,” Mikleo said warmly. “I appreciate it. I hope this wasn’t too awkward for you.”

“Not at all,” Uno said, lying at least a little bit. “Anything for a fellow-in-elements.”

Gently, he put a hand on Mikleo’s shoulder, and leaned in close. His face was twisted in concern.

“Mikleo. I know the former Shepherd is a good man. However, please don’t let him simply assume things about you.”

“Uno,” Mikleo said. “He’s an innocent soul, free of any such prejudices--”

“Is he?” Uno replied, distant. “I suppose. But please. Do not extend the many-armed embrace to someone who doesn’t fully appreciate it.”

Sage advice. But he needed more than one data point to conduct his self-review. He tried seeking out some of the other seraphim he’d had encounters with over the centuries, and most of them agreed to an interview…and all of these interviews came to a screeching halt when it was clear they were only participating so Mikleo would potentially tangle them up again. Some of them seemed ready to start outright weeping when he firmly told them he was off the market permanently. His hopes for a logical data-gathering exercise dashed, Mikleo had to go to Plan B.

Over the years, Mikleo found a pretty good rule of thumb when dealing with Zaveid: whenever he offered advice, you did the opposite of what he suggested, and things turned out great. With Zaveid considering himself the world’s foremost expert on romance, Mikleo was sure he could gather some great anti-intel that he could alchemize into actual guidance.

“So when you’re dancing the dance of seduction,” Zaveid said. “You’ve gotta slather the class on there thick, like you’re tryin’ to make a jam sandwich and the hot honey in bed with you is the bread. Just slather it all on there.”

“Mmhm,” Mikleo said, pretending to write that down.

“Then you gotta get some mood music. Be mysterious – you don’t want plebe stuff like cheesy romance songs or classic instrumental crap. You want something that’ll catch their attention, make them think ‘who is this mysterious sultan of sex, and why is his taste in music so much more arousing than everyone else’s?’ So I usually put on experimental jazz or monk throat singing.”

Mikleo had a few playlists filled with good instrumental mood music. He’d use that.

“Then you gotta show ‘em what you’re workin’ with. Just show ‘em what you’re workin’ with.”

Zaveid gyrated his midsection, attempting some sort of crude mating dance. Mikleo rose an eyebrow, unsure of how to parse that into something that made sense.

“And then, after that, you take that sex slather, and you froth it all up good--”

“Okay, I think I get it. Good advice, great help. Thank you,” Mikleo interrupted. He wished to hear no further of this slather.

 

\--

 

Mikleo felt Sorey’s hands sneak around his waist as he was doing his stretching exercises, and hummed happily at the kiss to his cheek. Sorey held him like that for a long minute before he stepped back to let Mikleo straighten up.

“I got some new journals,” Sorey said. “I was thinking you could maybe take a break to read in bed with me?”

It was so hard to say no to that face, so sweet and hopeful, but Mikleo desperately needed to keep training – if he wasn’t completely flexible, it was certain that the big night would be ruined. A hundred percent certain.

“I’m sorry, I’m just…” Mikleo trailed off as Sorey’s lips brushed at his neck. Hands came up to rub at his shoulders.

“You’re all tense,” Sorey murmured in his ear. “Isn’t stretching supposed to be relaxing?”

It was, theoretically. It was less relaxing when one pushed oneself past one’s limits in order to achieve perfect pretzel flexibility. Mikleo couldn’t help the soft groan of satisfaction that escaped him as Sorey massaged an especially sore spot. Sorey’s lips returned to his neck, and began to suck, slow and gentle.

Mikleo was so wrapped up in how good Sorey was making him feel (where did he get massage practice while sleeping?) that he didn’t notice Sorey’s hands had sneaked under his workout clothes. He startled away as if Sorey had started tickling him – which he was surprised he didn’t try, to be perfectly honest. Sorey blinked at him, eyes wide, his hands curling in the empty space Mikleo left.

“…sorry, did I hit a ticklish spot?” Sorey said after a moment.

His whole body was oversensitive, aching for Sorey’s touch. Mikleo swallowed and looked away.

“No, just—just sore. Gotta stretch more, sorry. I’ll take a rain check on the journals for tonight.”

He couldn’t bear to look at Sorey’s face as he went back to training. But, his teeth grit in determination as he bent flat to the floor and hoisted one leg next to his head, he’d make it up to him. A thousand times.

It had to be perfect.

 

\--

 

Mikleo was loath to admit it, but there was someone out there who potentially knew Sorey even better than he did. He would have to swallow his pride, square his shoulders, and face down the Lord of Glenwood himself to get the answers he needed.

Maotelus was a lot smaller than Mikleo remembered him in that pitched battle so many years ago. Surely he was able to adjust his size at will, of course – large enough to awe onlookers, or small enough to comfortably fit in a manmade structure. But that didn’t entirely explain why he was wandering blindly around the inner chamber of the Shrinechurch, currently about the size of a housecat, with an empty peanut butter jar stuck on his head. Mikleo carefully walked over to him and, with some effort, pried it off with a sticky pop, hearing Maotelus give a gasp of relief at being freed.

“Thanks. Won’t make that mistake again; thought I was in for another 700 years.” Maotelus licked at his front claws, and began to wash the peanut butter off his face. “What’s up? How is Sorey adjusting?”

“He’s fine,” Mikleo assured. “I had a few questions for you. About when you and Sorey were sleeping.”

“Shoot.”

Mikleo paused, considering how he wanted to phrase this.

“Did Sorey…dream? About anything?”

Maotelus tilted his head to the side quizzically. “Hm? Well yeah, lots of stuff. He’s got quite an imagination on him. Is there a reason you’ve come all this way to ask me instead of him?”

Mikleo shifted uncomfortably. Maotelus paused mid-face wash, realization dawning on him.

“Oh. Are you asking me if he had any dreams about _you?_ ”

Mikleo nodded, smiling in relief. “Yes, that’s--”

“Like, sex dreams, right? Sex dreams about you.”

Mikleo’s face reddened.

“Yeah, I figured it was sex dreams. We had a mutual agreement to not peek into each other’s headspace, but it happened sometimes, what with the earthpulse doing what it do,” Maotelus said. “He seemed to like dreaming up how you’d look in lacy things. Stockings especially. Plus he had a recurring dream where you saved him from a giant squid. I’ve heard that in dream psychology that means he’s either got digestive problems or--”

“I have to go,” Mikleo said.

Maotelus waved him goodbye cheerfully, and promptly inserted his head back into the peanut butter jar to chase after the remnants with his tongue.

 

\--

 

The stage was set. The candles were lit, the chocolates had been made, the lingerie had been bought. Mikleo tugged one stocking up when it threatened to slip down his thigh, and refastened it to his garter belt. He checked his hair in the mirror; making sure the product he’d worked into it was keeping his curls under control with it loose over his shoulders. He scrunched up a few stray waves with his hands, and tossed them over his shoulder irritably. He would just have to hope Sorey didn’t notice his imperfect hair. Now, all Mikleo had to do was call for the most important part of the equation – Sorey himself.

Mikleo sat on the edge of their bed, crossed his legs, and tried to look alluring – imperfect hair and all – as he called out that Sorey could finally come in from the living room. Sorey entered the room slowly, his face carefully blank; as if he was expecting Mikleo to shoo him out at any second. His eyes landed on Mikleo on the bed, and his jaw went slack, despite himself.

“Sorey,” Mikleo gently called, again, reaching out a lacey gloved hand for him. “May I have the honor?”

Sorey slowly walked forward, visibly swallowing hard as his eyes raked up and down Mikleo – from the lace-and-ribbon choker at his neck, to the lace gloves that stretched to his upper arms, to the thigh-highs and matching ribbon garter belt, to the white lace panties that left so little to the imagination. The ribbon keyhole opening in the back of the panties even moreso. Sorey stood in front of him, staring down, clearly enthralled but at a loss what to do next. Mikleo slid off the bed and knelt in front of him, one hand smoothing up Sorey’s thigh, another hand up to his own mouth, teeth catching on the lace. Sorey let out a shameless moan at the feeling; louder when Mikleo leaned in to nuzzle his cheek against his clothed erection – already so hard, and just too cute. Mikleo’s heart soared at the opportunity to take him by the hand and give him a night of unimaginable pleasure—

Mikleo had very carefully composed the playlist that was at this very moment playing on speakers, low in the background, giving a very carefully measured level of background noise to set the mood. He had _carefully_ composed it, and checked it over and over, and did not know why it had switched over to freeform experimental jazz. Fuming with frustration, his eyes very nearly prickling with tears, Mikleo rose to his feet and moved to storm to his laptop to see who (Zaveid) had been messing with his streaming software ( _Zaveid_ ). Sorey caught him by the shoulders before he got too far and wrapped him up in a firm hug when he tried to squirm away.

“Let me _go_ , this isn’t how I planned it, it’s…” Mikleo trailed off, helplessly. Sorey kissed the back of his neck, over and over, until he went slack in his arms.

“Mikleo. I don’t care about the music, or any of this fancy stuff,” Sorey gestured around the room at the mood lighting, rose petals, and sensual silk drapings. The experimental jazz tooted discordantly. “Not that I don’t appreciate the effort. I just want you.”

Mikleo looked up at him from under the fall of his bangs, his expression wretched. Sorey turned him to face him, and cupped his face between his hands.

“If it’s with you, it’ll be perfect. No matter what.”

Sorey looked him up and down, and gave a tiny little smile as he snuck a hand down to slide under the hem of a stocking.

“And it’ll be even more perfect with you dressed like that. So, can we get into bed? I gotta admit, I’ve been getting a little jealous. I _really_ want to have you.”

A smile slowly curled Mikleo’s lips. A guilty little part of him was thrilled. “Really? And I thought our Lord Shepherd was above all that.”

Sorey snapped the elastic of Mikleo’s stocking against his thigh, making him jump a bit at the sting. “Barely. All this--” He took Mikleo by the hand and twirled him around slowly. “—Is now for my eyes only. Deal?”

“Deal.”

And so, as jazz horns honked out like dying geese in the background, Mikleo lowered Sorey into bed. Sorey stared up at Mikleo in naked adoration as he stripped him, his eyes rolling back into his head as Mikleo ducked down to take his cock into his mouth. He startled at the feeling of something slithering and wet against his hole.

“ _Oh,_ ” Sorey breathed out, a full-body shiver wracking him as Mikleo slid a thin tentacle into him. Another tentacle came up to give Sorey a little kiss on the cheek. Sorey turned his head to look at it, and, eyes sliding shut, opened his mouth in invitation. Mikleo nearly ruined his lacy panties at the sight of Sorey’s lips stretching around it. His eyes glinted at Mikleo from beneath his lashes, and he winked.  

Sorey was just full of surprises.

So, maybe Sorey _was_ ready for the world of seraphic encounters. Seraphic sex tended toward the realm of the wild and vaguely deadly – another reason why Mikleo tended to prefer human partners, as he had little interest in being a prop in some fire seraph’s hot wax kink or any of the profoundly weird quicksand roleplay scenarios that one earth seraph kept trying to get him interested in. In comparison, Mikleo using his water artes to create tentacle helpers was positively vanilla. Not that Sorey appeared to be enjoying it any less…Mikleo slipped another tentacle into him, and Sorey’s eyes rolled back, choking out a moan around the tentacle in his mouth. Pleasure rolled up Mikleo’s spine as Sorey shivered and tightened around the tentacles rubbing and moving in him. Mikleo twisted the twin tentacles together, and sent warm pulses of magic through them. Sorey’s back arched, and one hand flailed out to grab desperately for Mikleo’s arm, Mikleo’s waist – anything to anchor him. His cock was so red and hard, and seemed to beg for Mikleo’s attention. He slithered out a few more tentacles to wrap around his thighs and upper arms, one to wrap around his torso – not to restrain, but just to make an even prettier picture.

It was just too much to just sit there and watch. Mikleo clambered up onto Sorey, fitted their hips together – the lace was so rough on his own erection, and probably was just as rough on Sorey’s. Mikleo shimmied his panties down just enough to free his cock, and moaned in relief when Sorey’s cock rubbed against his own. Sorey’s hands scrambled to cup his ass – he was kneading and squeezing so hard that Mikleo was sure he’d have bruises in the morning. He had half a mind to spare a few tentacles to hold Sorey’s wrists above his head while he had his way with him, but the greater part of his mind thrilled at the thought of pressing his fingers into those bruises in the morning, and remembering.

The tentacles working inside Sorey had reduced him to a glassy-eyed mess, anchored to reality solely by his grip on Mikleo’s lace-covered ass. Mikleo traced the stretch of his lips around the tentacle with his gloved thumb, and slowly removed it from his mouth. Sorey gasped for air, whimpering between gasps for the loss, whimpering in blessed relief when Mikleo filled the loss left with his lips and tongue. Mikleo gave a command to the tentacles inside him, and they began to fuck him hard, in and out, slick and relentless. Sorey wailed Mikleo’s name against his mouth as Mikleo slithered a tentacle in between them to wrap around both of their cocks to stroke.

Sorey’s insides fluttered and squeezed around the tentacles, and when he stiffened up, Mikleo let the tentacles grind inside of him as Sorey’s walls clenched down. Sorey’s fingers dug hard into his ass, then went slack. He tried to make his eyes come back into focus as he looked at Mikleo, and gave such a sweet smile –

“Love you,” he whispered, his voice hoarse from being throat-fucked by water artes.

\--and Mikleo was finished.

He swam back into reality a few minutes later. His head was tucked under Sorey’s chin, and Sorey was petting his hair with one hand, and petting his butt with the other. His water artes had gone quiet, and Sorey was free of his tentacles’ ravishing grasp. Mikleo nuzzled at Sorey’s pulse point, and resolved for being ravished himself for a bit.

They had all the time in the world, now.


End file.
